‘The colour of life, of blood, of paradise.’

April 20th, 2000 — Afternoon

The bookstore was called Aggressive Books Against Communism, Marxism, and Blasphemy.

Keyword: was.

Located on second street in the island part of town, the two-story building was a holdover from the first iteration of the town, a time before the construction corpos and paved over everything with bright lights and tourist traps. Named during the Red Scares of the 50s and 60s, local businesses (apparently) wanted to do their part against the war on communism. Even the wee little bookstores.

This particular bookstore helped the cause by stockpiling compilations of American history, hoisting scary posters about the Reds, and to quote, “Preserving The Free World’s Rich History.”

Of course, when that whole paranoia biz was over, the descendants of the originals were left with a very questionably named store. Think there might’ve been some infighting or politics or history I don’t know about that occurred over the last little while, because there is one hell of a logical jump to the store’s current name:

Inoffensive Proletariat Bargain Books.

From what I can deduce, seems like the then-youthful owner went through a communist phase in some cushy college, came back, snapped out of it, and ended up somewhere in the middle of ideologies. If the owner were around, I’d love to ask him what kind of shit he was on when he went through the whole process of naming this place — and preferably, where I can get some. It was the psychedelic 70s and 80s back then, so I’m sure there’s plenty of Wiccans I can laugh at.

I point to the slogan on the entrance’s side as we approach, capping off my knowledge regurgitation. “See? Still there, to this day.”

Felix looks at me with an intrigued, yet concerned expression. “Is… that a real story?”

The bookstore opens up to two stories of musty, yellow-paged books and scratched oak decor. I make a quick detour to the second floor and scan the glass shelves for any missing tomes — a few are missing, but not the ones I’m worried about.

The only times I’ve been in this book store are from previous reconnaissance. There is a small collection of occult tomes detailing occult weirdness stored behind glass cabinets, but they’re pricey enough to dissuade the common person from even looking in their direction. The stranger books are still in place — don’t think anybody of note came through here.

As I turn to leave, I catch Felix staring wide-eyed at a particular shelf near the stairwell. He seems to be absolutely transfixed; his eyes don’t leave the brass mirror backdrop for a second. He doesn’t even blink.

“It’s still there,” he mumbles to himself, staring down at a red-leather book. “It’s still there. It’s… still there.”

I step closer and peer at the object of his grim fascination. He’s entranced with the existence of a book called the Enmeglan Fragments, a volume as wide as my thigh. There’s a brass mirror behind it, polished enough that I can see the flurry outline of my own face. Green eyes like molten envy stare back.

“What’s up?” I ask, prodding his shoulder.

Felix shakes his head and shoves his hands into his armpits, turning away. “I-I don’t really remember, but there’s something wrong with that book…”

“Well, if you say so.” I focus my senses and concentrate on the volume. There doesn’t seem to be anything special about it — no mana, no signature, no active runes or anything of the sort. For all intents and purposes, it’s an entirely ordinary book. “We can ask to take a look after our investigation.”

He nods, appreciatively. “If you can.”

The clerk is a rotund barrel with legs and arms. A few buttered words and a slip of a tenner beats the store’s consumer privacy policy in a jiffy.

“Ren Lawson, right?” the clerk says, slipping my hard earned money into his pocket, “She was a frequent around here. Think she popped up on the headlines a few days ago — shame what happened. Poor girl deserved better.”

“Anything strange happens around here? Anything helps.” I dig into my bag and present a copy of the white book. “We’re looking into this thing in particular.”

A flash of recognition creases his forehead into wrinkled squiggles. “Now that you mention it, I remember a book trade from around two weeks ago. Ren met up with this scholar-looking girl with blue eyes and traded away a big box of books for one of those. Seemed really happy about it.

Scholar with blue eyes. Aniya. “A-Any other details?” I say, nearly choking out the words.

“Hmm… she did her hair up, had a pair of weird glasses…”

Couldn’t be anybody else. I keep smiling as my hands curl into fists. “Right, thanks. Think that’s enough.”

Later. I can think about this later, still. I take a deep breath through my nose and nod, as though deep in thought. “By the way, my acquaintance is seeking to inspect one of your books. Mind if we take a look?”

The clerk shakes his head. “I don’t know, miss, most of the older books are very expensive. Some of them are very old...” He trails off, yet stares at us expectantly.

I nudge Felix with my elbow — a crestfallen expression washes over him as he realizes my intent. Sullenly, he takes out his wallet, sighs, and holds out a ten dollar bill. It takes a few tugs for the clerk to pry it from his fingers.

A quick skim over the Enmeglan Fragments provides nothing of worth. I’d say that it gives negative worth — I can feel my brain cells shrieking as I read paragraph upon paragraph of schlock. By the fourth page, the text has degenerated to something close to this:

“In the eve of Crystalmyre, the M'nas had withheld for three fortnights and a ty’mn underneath the shelter of their p’tnzi. Their Yonathien spears were set against the would-be charge of the nelmentih, which could come crashing down at any moment. Let this be a preliminary fable to those who seek zalnethcraft, for the secrets lie within the set.”

Not sure if this is supposed to be either a long winded epic, a textbook on pseudo-science, a primer on even more made up than usual, or some godforsaken unholy matrimony between the three, but I’ve had enough. I’m pretty sure a vanity press printed this as a joke.

As we walk away from the bookstore, I turn and start walking backwards, hands on my nape. I make absolutely no effort to conceal my amusement. “So? Did you get your money’s worth?”

“I want my ten minutes back,” Felix says, hanging his head.

“What in God’s name possessed you to even look at that thing?”

He shakes his head and huffs. “I can’t remember. Just… I had some deja vu. I swear I’ve seen something similar to that scene before, it’s — everything about it was familiar. But I can’t remember.”

“Maybe a bit of walking will jog your memory. Come along now, we’ve got things to deal with.”

And by that, I mean we’ve got a lot of shit to deal with. My brain can’t begin to process how to deal with Aniya. She’s been in contact with both Pelchat and Ren before they went under, and who knows how many more people. I’ll have to find a way to paraphrase this to Gabriel without giving myself way — maybe he has a few ideas on what’s going on.

Erika’s incomplete admission still rattles in my head with every step, every droplet of sunshine, every person I pass; all these human sensations only serve to illuminate the thorn of hunger in my body. If my Grandma confided in her, then she must surely know more of what’s going on — she must be concealing a painful detail from me. It might be the same detail that caused the incident that birthed ‘me’ all those years ago on that cold, snowy night. Suppose I really have been relying on Erika too much for absolutely — this is something I’ll have to uncover myself.

Whatever it may be, hopefully it won’t be too late when I find out.

It only takes thirty minutes to repair my phone.

Rather, it only takes one minute to get a new phone. The other twenty-nine minutes are spent coming up with a plausible explanation that falls within my insurance policy. I quickly realized there are no good explanations for a phone grinded into bits, so I just said it was stolen but managed to recover the discarded SIM.

The clerk has a very peculiar expression when he hands me the new clamshell flip phone, something that says that he’s used to this sort of bullshit from customers.

There’s a small collection of SMS messages and missed call notifications waiting for me when I slot in and power the thing up. I scroll over and skim through them.

[4/20/2020; 17:23:31 PM -- (252)-359-3421]

Marie, whenever you have the time, please try to get into contact with me.

[4/20/2020; 17:23:31 PM -- (252)-359-3421]

There’s something you should know about. Digital isn’t private enough.

[4/20/2020; 17:23:31 PM -- (252)-359-3421]

Marie? Are you there?

[4/20/2020; 17:23:31 PM -- (252)-359-3421]

This is really important. Let me know when you receive these.

There are many other texts like these. Most of them are on par, or even more cryptic — if you told me these were from a girl to her crush, or warning messages, I’d believe either. And there’s one final message that comes on top of the stack, one that’s much more cryptic:

[4/20/2020; 17:23:32 PM -- (252)-359-3421]

I’ll meet you in person tomorrow. I have something important to say.

“Ominous,” I mutter, leaning back against the bench me and Felix had earlier commandeered.

Between Pier 1 and Pier 2, there’s a nice grassy park that has a lot of nice benches and places to snap photos in. Green grass, leafy palms, sapphire ocean, teal-red sky, golden sands — it’s got everything for a mantle-worthy landscape. But if you go off the road a little, do some hops and skips past a stone breach wall, and you can find a quaint little cliffside with a perfect view, hidden away by shrubbage and fishnet fences.

An imperial bench stands near the cliff, a monument commemorating one of the original founders of the town. Bronze statues sit on the steel bench, worn aquamarine by the sea, a family of three immortalized in brass. Pretty sure the designers didn’t intend on anybody else to sit on the bench, which is precisely what Me and Felix are doing. This shit is like catnip for rebellious teenagers. Premium grade, high shelf disrespecting material.

I claimed the only real seat; Felix ends up sitting in an old metal dude’s lap. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable.

“Bear with it a little longer, buddy,” I say. “Need to make a call.”

“I don’t appreciate the way this statue’s crotch has been designed to sit on,” Felix says, quite pensively.

I smirk as I dial in Aniya’s number. “You can sit on mine. You might find a surprise or two.”

The remark strikes a vein and slides the colour shader of his face to a hard pink. His hands balls into fists and he looks down into his lap, wide-eyed — it’s nice to see the otherwise impervious Felix get flustered by little things.

My plan for Aniya isn’t nearly as intricate as the one I had made for Felix. If I fumbled on my ass for three hours straight only to come into conflict with my own familiar over a guy like him, I’ll probably end up blowing myself up around her. She’s avoided coming into conflict with me and Erika so far, so maybe there might be an amiable solution to all of this. I’m sure we might be able to talk things out. Maybe.

She picks up on the fifth dial tone. I’m already lowering the phone when I hear the sound of a receiver dragging across cloth, distorted into a sharp crackle.

“Marie? Is that you?”

An equally sharp voice breaks through the static. There’s a lot of ambience accompanying the voice — she could be in a crowd or ocean. Potentially just windy out where she is.

But more importantly, she completely memorized my number and slapped it on a new phone. Can’t imagine any other ways to get a new number in this day and age. I can’t tell whether to be flattered or revolted — I don’t have much emotion in either direction. “Yeah, it’s me. Just got a new phone,” I say, faking a slightly-cheery voice.

“Ah. You have no idea how glad I am to see you — but I can’t exactly talk right now. Kinda busy. Got thirty seconds?”

A high pitched whirl, not unlike the sound of a buzzsaw comes through. I wince. “Sounds… like it. But I’ve got an evening, actually.”

“Great — meet me tomorrow after school at the intersection of 27th and 3rd street, right underneath the blue tree. You can’t miss it.”

The decal of a famous office building, right beside a fancy cafe. Typical meeting place. “We have tomorrow off, remember? Long weekend.”

“Right.” Aniya’s tone grows annoyed. She clicks her tongue and sighs. “Meet me at two, then.”

“Gotcha.”

“One more thing, Marie.”

“I’m listening.”

A deep, uneasy sigh. “There’s something up with Gabriel and Adrian. Whoever they’re working for is out for you. Whatever you do, avoid them. Please. I… I care about you.”

Another accusation. I could fill a swimming pool out of them at this rate — I try to contain the falter in my voice and speak again. “Hweh? Where’s this coming from?”

A louder noise comes through the speaker. A thick, chunky noise, like a sledgehammer on clay.

Shovel against flesh. “Even if just for tonight.”

“Yeah,” I lie through a sinking heart, “Promise.”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t forget about me.”

Call cuts out. My new phone falls with my hand, hanging limply off the bench’s armrest.

...I knew it. The first thought that comes to mind is not the conflicting statements of suspicion, but a tangential realization that is selfish, stupid, and plain inconsequential.

Normal people would never get involved with a person like me. The only people I’m close to are fellow freakshows and highly suspect individuals; the thought seems so out of place that it’s absurd. But it’s the truth. Maybe the normal people of this world just subconsciously know that I’m somebody to avoid, a monster in the guise of a human. I don’t even know how to feel about it.

My friends are already turning on each other without even realizing what I am. What was the point of hiding this secret if they already were part of the same world? Were we merely part of the same masaquade, holding crafted masks over our true faces?

Am I just being a melodramatic cunt?

The answer to all of these kneejerk questions, of course, is maybe. I don’t have any definite answers yet with hard evidence, so I’ll reserve my judgments until then. I’ll have to, for my own sanity.

Yeah. I guess I can stew in willful ignorance just a bit longer. At this rate, the truth will mug me with a crowbar and take all my money, whether I like it or not.

“How’d the call go?” Felix asks, still sitting on the statue’s lap. He has a concerned look to him, but it might just be because he’s still not used to sitting in a crusty old dude’s lap.

“Looks like I’ve got a date over tea and biscuits. Or something like that.”

“Ah. Cheers.” Felix offers a genuine smile of congratulations and gives me a thumbs up. “Don’t worry, I’ve already given up on you romantically.”

“Wh—”

A verbal jab right to the left cheek. I can’t even muster enough energy to react to that one — it’s another on top of the pile. “Okay, hey, fuck you, I’m a totally suitable romantic partner.”

“No, it’s just — you have a lot of people — you’re really nice and uh, I don’t want to get murdered by Erika—”

“Playing hard to get, huh? We’ll see about that. I’ve got sex appeal for days.”

Too much stimulus overload for a pure boy like Felix. He hides his face in his hands, and I swear to God, he’s either reciting verses from the Bible, or Dr. Who quotes. Both, in theory, should keep away a filthy hellspawn like me, but theory only gets so far. I burst into light conniptions, laughing mirthfully into the late afternoon air.

I suppose I shouldn’t have this much fun teasing an absolute virgin, but it’s a distraction for the both of us. A desperate procrastination from the inevitable, as though it could lighten the blow. I’ll still need to confront both of my friends, but the slowly reddening sun and ocean breeze soothes my nerves, if only just a little. I would’ve vastly prefered Erika’s company, but Felix isn’t half-bad. Silently, I thank him for providing a small distraction to my ongoing woes.

No matter what happens from here on out, I resolve myself to find the truth about Gabriel and Aniya, to my existence, to this entire city, all of it will be uncovered tonight. Here’s hoping I can actually handle it.